


Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

by bnsolo



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: "Studying", Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Teasing, this is my first time writing smut can you tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bnsolo/pseuds/bnsolo
Summary: Jonathan is supposed to be studying. As per usual, Steve doesn't feel like letting him.





	Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is an experiment because i've never written smut before....i feel like it's terrible but hey ho  
> also i know there are tons of steve/jonathan fics with this exact premise but don't call me out  
> enjoy and please let me know what you thought, i'd like to know what i can work on in terms of smut

 

Jonathan can feel Steve watching him from across the room and fights the urge to look up from his textbook. He’s playing with him, Jonathan knows it, daring him to lock eyes with him, knowing what will happen when he does. The feeling makes his scalp prickle, his pulse quicken. The Smiths’ new album plays softly in the background, the only noise in the quiet little house, and still Steve does not look away, and still Jonathan keeps his eyes on his textbook as the words swim and his heart beats, hot and heavy, in his throat. Across the room, a smile is playing on Steve’s lips, unseen by the dark-haired boy sat cross-legged and head bent on the other end of the bed.

“Come on Byers, this is getting ridiculous. You’ve been reading that one page for about ten minutes now, and I know that means you’re faking because you usually read at the speed of light.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” Jonathan mutters without looking up.

“Your ears are turning red. Come on, dude, you’ve been studying for like three hours now. You’ll ace the quiz, like you always do.”

“Yeah, I ace them ‘cause I study.”

“You know what they say. All work and no play...”

“Are you saying I’m dull?”

“Maybe. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“Come over here and make me.”

For a second, Jonathan still stares blankly at the page. Then his will crumbles, and he snaps the book shut, looking up and meeting Steve’s gaze at last. His expression is soft, questioning, almost anxious, and it turns Jonathan’s stomach into liquid heat. Those wide eyes, those amazing fucking lips… He moves towards Steve, pushing forward onto his knees and holding himself up on one arm over his friend’s reclining body, and Steve leans up, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Come and play,” Steve murmurs, almost too quiet to hear, and Jonathan lowers his head and Steve pushes up and they meet in the middle, all soft lips and tongue and teeth and Jonathan’s hand stroking Steve’s face so gently. Steve’s arms come up and around Jonathan’s torso, pressing him into his chest as the kiss deepens. The room is too hot, the air pressing in on them, so Jonathan leans back and tugs his shirt off over his head, moving on autopilot. The brush of Steve’s hand running slowly down his chest sends shivers down him, intensifying the ache between his thighs. Steve pulls him back down once again, kisses him slower this time, catching Jonathan’s lips between his teeth as his hands trace the curve of his back. Jonathan’s hands are at the hem of Steve’s shirt, persistent and nagging, and Steve pulls away, grinning.

“It’s my turn, is it?”

“Sure is.” Jonathan’s voice is husky with want, his pupils huge in his brown eyes, and Steve is in awe. Their hands meet as they both tug off Steve’s shirt, and Jonathan sighs like the sight of Steve’s bare chest brings him physical _relief,_ and presses his lips to his collarbone, planting kisses first there and then on the sensitive skin on Steve’s neck, his jawline, his Adam’s apple that bobs as Steve swallows dryly, arching his neck back to give Jonathan more access. Steve’s thigh gets between Jonathan’s legs and he can feel, through the material of their jeans, how hard Jonathan is already, and he knows what he wants, what he _needs,_ to do next. Steve brings his head up to kiss Jonathan’s cheek, his ear, his neck, murmuring sweet nothings the whole time.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Byers, you know that? _So_ fucking gorgeous...” Jonathan didn’t think it was medically possible for his heart to beat this fast, but it races at light-speed when Steve sucks on that spot on his neck, right at the hollow of his collarbone, where his pulse flutters and throbs. He moves back to Jonathan’s mouth, his hot, wet tongue invading his mouth, as he pushes himself up underneath Jonathan’s body and sits up. Still kissing him, Steve pushes a little on Jonathan’s chest, and he falls back weakly, unable to resist. Positions reversed, they kiss like that for a little while, enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, arms wrapped around each other. Then Steve pulls back and kisses Jonathan’s breastbone, trailing soft little butterfly kisses down his chest. Jonathan knows what he’s going to do, and the thought of it sends thrills of adrenaline through his body and turns his semi into a raging hard-on. Steve’s hand comes up to stroke him through his jeans, and Jonathan jumps, almost straight up to the ceiling, and Steve chuckles.

“Easy, easy there,” he smiles, glancing up through his long lashes at Jonathan, splayed out before him, pushed up on his elbows with his hair a mess, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. _Holy shit. He literally_ looks _like sex,_ Steve thinks stupidly through the fog clouding his brain. “Now then…I don’t know about you, Byers, but I think it’s high time someone did something about _this_.” He traces the shape of Jonathan’s cock through his jeans.

Jonathan swallows thickly. “I agree,” he manages, voice distant over the pounding of his heart. Steve grins again, that fucking amazing grin that makes Jonathan so stupid-hot, and unbuttons and unzips his jeans teasingly, achingly slowly. He pulls down his underwear, making sure to graze Jonathan’s bare cock with his fingertips, and Jonathan’s thigh twitches and his breath starts to come out in little breathless gasps.

“Please…please, please, _please..._ ”

“What was that, Jonny-boy?”

“Steve...Steve, c'mon,  _please..._ ”

At that moment (of course) the song changes, from the soft moody tones of _Reel Around the Fountain,_ to the wistful, twanging guitar of _Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want._ Steve’s laughter bubbles out of him, and even Jonathan can see the funny side, desperate as he is. As their laughter dies, Steve smirks up at Jonathan.

“Should I give you want you want, then?”

“ _Please,”_ Jonathan moans, his shaky chuckle abruptly choking off as Steve finally frees his aching cock and wraps his lips around it. With the final chords of the song ringing in his ears, Jonathan lays back, gasping for breath. His world shrinks to heat and wet and suction and teasing tongue. Steve’s jaw starts to ache, a wonderful ache to match the one between his legs, and he can hear Jonathan’s perfect gasps and moans and feel his fingers grasping his hair. It could be seconds, or minutes, or centuries before Jonathan’s hips begin to buck and Steve knows he’s close, the world has become timeless, nothing existing but Jonathan’s hot, hard flesh in Steve’s mouth, the throb of his heartbeat. Then that throb becomes more pronounced, and Steve resists the need for oxygen, forgets the imperative to breathe and concentrates fully on making Jonathan see stars, making him feel as good as humanly possible. Steve glances up, sees Jonathan panting, sweat glowing on his skin, the fever-bright flush of his cheeks, pupils huge and black and magnetic. Jonathan looks into Steve’s desperate, lust-blown eyes, at his lips wrapped around him, and thinks hysterically: _Steve Harrington is sucking your cock,_ and it is that ridiculous thought that for some reason pushes him over the edge. His hips buck up involuntarily, and Steve swallows desperately, on the verge of choking. When he at last looks back up, he sees Jonathan lying, eyes closed, chest heaving, cock still twitching and thinks: _You did that. You made him feel that._

Steve strokes a lock of dark brown, sweat-soaked hair off Jonathan’s forehead. “Okay?”

Jonathan laughs shakily. “Understatement of the century.”

They lay, side by side, facing each other. Drinking each other in. After a second or two, though, Jonathan remembers, and grins slowly.

“What, Byers?”

“Your turn.”

Steve is so hard by this point that it doesn’t take long, just a few bobs of Jonathan’s dark head, strokes of his long fingers and Steve is whimpering and spilling over Jonathan’s stomach. They hold each other, feeling their breathing return to normal, their skin begin to cool down in the winter evening’s air.

“So how do we feel about this quiz?” Steve teases lightly, running his fingers through Jonathan’s hair.

“What quiz?” Jonathan replies sleepily, suppressing a yawn. He feels Steve’s laughter reverberate through his body.

“That's the spirit.”


End file.
